


Singularity

by hegemony



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, mindmeld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegemony/pseuds/hegemony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is sensory overload from both ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singularity

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on 2nd-Jun-2009 for ST_XI_kink, under the prompt, "Spock and Uhura have sex the 'Vulcan Way' (slow, sensual, mind-melding, use of pressure points), and the 'Human Way' (hot, loud, sweaty, primal). After, they compare notes"
> 
> Gently revised.

The air between them is thick as they breathe in and out together. They settle on their sides in his bed. The first push inside her is seemingly never-ending. Her eyes fall shut; he notices without even looking at her face. Her chest arches, almost floating. Her fingers sink into his flesh, gripping onto him in need.

There are no words. There is no room for voice; he can tell what she needs simply by the way her skin pushes into his hands: the thigh begging for a teasing touch, the bared neck calling for his mouth. He traces the elegant line of her collarbone, and starts to withdraw.

(He presses her up against the window in his quarters, the coolness shocking her into a grunt. She wraps her legs around him, sandwiching herself in, and attacks his mouth, groaning into it.

"Yes, Spock. Please."

"Your voice makes such an everyday word sound impeccable."

She smiles at that, murderous flash of teeth and breathless cadence as he undoes her bra, letting it drop away. "You like it when I beg, huh?"

He shoves her further up the window, drawing up the Starfleet issued skirt she still has around her waist. He presses his mouth to her labia, and parts it with his fingers to dip his tongue inside her to taste. She addresses assorted Earth deities in hopes that he will continue.)

They turn in bed fluidly, his body over hers. She knows where to touch, and the sensation of her nails haphazardly scraping across a nipple makes him question the value of self-control for this particular exercise. He arches his back, adjusts his position and watches as her eyes slip closed in pleasure. He speeds up, but just enough to get her to paw at his back and clench around him needfully, fingers pressing into the back of his hair, mouth falling open just so.

He's thankful that she can translate such reservation into passion. He wants nothing more than for this to be pleasurable to them both. His mind floats blank as he presses his mouth down, leaving an imprint of heat around one of her nipples, letting his teeth scrape at it. She pulls him away, presses his mouth to hers.

(He notices that his hands are flushed, a little green underneath cool pale white. Nonetheless, he manages to get his pants unbuttoned and unzipped, and negotiates himself free. She holds herself open with one hand as the other hand splays across the window above her head. He charges in, and she bucks to meet him halfway.

"Fuck me," she orders.

"Certainly," he grits out, withdrawing just enough to tease before taking her other hand and lifting it above her head as well, using the leverage he has to surge back in until she's crying out over it, letting him take her on his terms. He sucks at her neck, leaving the kind of mark that will echo for days under her clothes, a dirty little secret of possession, as if nobody on the ship knows Nyota and he are paired.)

They split away from each other for a minute, as she turns over cat-like in how her arms and limbs move as if they are not under her control. He presses back in, finds where she is most sensitive and the friction is the most pleasurable, and starts building a rhythm again. She's on her stomach, and the bun atop her head slips down and spreads hair out against the pillow. He presses a long, sensual kiss to the back of her neck, tongue dancing over smooth skin, and loses himself in the feel of her.

The pace adjusts a little bit more, their bodies getting into the swing of this, as if they've been doing slow for hours. She smiles and turns to press her lips against his, tongues meeting sharply as the rhythm becomes apparent in both of their bodies, in the push and pull between them.

Her breath comes out in long, elegant sweeps that he strives to match with his whole body. It is a highly concentrated effort, and when she twists to steal a kiss, he indulges her even if it dissuades his focus.

He rolls her on top of him, still connected and in the same position, and watches as she stretches out over him like a blanket, taking her pleasure with his hands on her hips guiding her along. He can't see her face but knows her expression is one of intensity, this is as much work as it is sexual bonding.

(She whimpers with his thrusts, squirms under his strength as he widens his stance for even more leverage, thrusts coming quick. Her legs undo themselves from around his waist, and he can feel them twining around his own like vines, like they're trying to merge.

"Yes, yes Spock," she sighs. He bites at her lip, their hips working like it's a fight, like their bodies aren't really fond of each other. Even though he's not gentle, she breaks his grip on her wrists and enfolds her hand in his shirt, grabbing and yanking until he's against her mouth, tongue slipping just inside. She groans, shifting into his touch, and he watches as her nipples pebble while rubbing against the fiber of his uniform.)

He grabs at her leg, gleams how fast her heart is beating from her calf. It's a little fast, he thinks, as he smoothes over her thigh. His hand slides to frame the place where they are joined, splaying her open and pulling out, slowly, as if he's ready to stop. She grabs and sinks fingers into his shoulder, just under the blade, an unspoken plea not to stop now. They change the angle again, sitting up and she touches him just right, her free hand skirting across the tip of his ear. His eyes float shut, and he groans down her neck, the vibration traveling down the v of her breasts, and reaching to where his hands are joined.

(He throws her over his desk, turns her around and strips her of the skirt, dark red fabric falling to the floor. She looks beautiful in this position: hair spilled like ink down her back, skin giving way to dark shadows casted by her musculature. Her face is turned so he can see her in profile, her fingers splayed like she's clawing into the antique wooden countertop, leaving her place in his history.

"Come and get me," She says, breathless as she watches him take off his shirt.

The long column of her legs leads to thick thighs he slips between, pushing back in. She moans long enough to make it sound like she's been hurt.

He slips two fingers into her mouth, grafting the skin of his torso to her back, biting at her shoulder and leaving yet another mark. The leverage here allows his thrusts to rock into her with such power she sobs with every movement, her wetness and heat about to run him into the ground. She arches up for it, clawing into his back with one hand while keeping the other flat on his table. He removes his fingers from her mouth, and presses them to her clit, spreading the wetness over it before starting to tease.

"Fuck!" She cries out. "Do it! Make me come!")

His fingers brush against her clit as he pushes in deeper, harder, enough to make her mouth fall open in a sharp gasp again, an endless whimper slipping out of her mouth. He hits all of her spots at once, hips snapping as his fingers crawl over the cut of her hip, the sensitive curve under her breast and his lips press against the spot behind her ear. Her heart rate speeds up, her breath coming out short, staccato.

He has asked her not to beg, and she tries her hardest to obey his request.

Right at her breaking point, he presses his fingers to the side of her face, over her eye and across her cheek, and her mind opens to flood his senses. They fall into each other, the experience shared as he can tell the whisper of her needy voice, feels the tension in her body spill over into his. A singularity: she clenches around him as he comes inside her, their bodies calm as they can feel what the other is feeling.

It is sensory overload from both ends.

"Nyota," he whispers as his eyes slip closed and she leans her head back on his shoulder, lost in connection and sensation.

("Spock!" She screams as she clenches around him, tighter and tighter until all he can do is give into her body. He shudders, mouth hanging wet and open and leaving a print on the back of her neck, nails drawing blood at her hip. It takes control Spock does not have at this current point in time to extract himself from the place he's etched inside and around her. He aches for the gentle coolness of her skin when he pulls away.)

Watching her catch her breath is hypnotizing, the way her chest moves as she lands on the bed, licking the sweat from her mouth and sighing with contentment. He is surprised she took the bonding so well in the heat of her own passion. Her toes curl under with tension as she stretches out on his bed, and makes room for him when he returns to her side.

"You look uncomfortable," He says, "Was something not pleasing for you? Please, Nyota, be honest."

"Everything's..." She exhales, moaning still, "everything's fine, Spock. You never told me that mind melds were that..."

"Physically and emotionally intense?"

She smiles at that, bright and dazzling before she foists herself onto her forearms and presses his lips to hers. She sighs, gusts of air by his ear, "I can still feel you inside me."

He isn't sure what that is supposed to mean, and reaches out with another thought, sharp and bright stimulation against the inside of her skin. Her toes curl as her fingers court the blanket underneath her into a hungry grasp.

She smiles at him and sends back a particularly dirty thought of her own across the link.

"I always did admire how quickly you learned things," He says, thinking about the terms, and how a mind meld would work during the most strenuous sex, how much self-control the two of them would gain. They'll have to try it sometime.

(They drink from the same worn canteen of water as they sit together on the desk. He leans into her; she shares the weight.

"Perhaps when we are fully recovered, Nyota," he says as she presses the cool metal back into his hand, "you would like to try it my way."

She smiles, gathering her hair to arrest it in some form of a bun before kissing him on the cheek and smiling, gently. "Trust me when I say I would like nothing more.")


End file.
